Dont’ know about other self-proclaimed “Extroverts,” but my outgoingness turns contemplative this time of year. Like Bear, I yield to winter’s encroaching darkness. I resist engagement and hunker down. I meditate, read, craft, write.
Or disappear into the Void.
At the moment however, I’m attempting another book. I presumed I’d dumped all baggage of having previously been a nun with my first book.
The memories continue downloading with a vengeance.
So I write.